


what it feels like for a girl

by madfatty



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: F/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:31:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8548174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madfatty/pseuds/madfatty
Summary: Post series 2 Chop has some things to learn about what a girl wants.





	

When he wakes, it’s dark and Izzy’s gone.  It takes a minute for him to figure out where he is and why, the disembodied thump and bang of flagging revellers rising up through the floor shakes the memory loose. There’d been a spontaneous drunken round of hide-and-seek after the usual drunken game of spin-the-bottle had come to near blows when two young ladies both thought the other had lingered a little too long over the same lad. Chop and Izzy had slipped away to hide in the bottom of a closet in one of the upstairs bedrooms and had promptly forgotten about the game.

In the tiny space of the closet she’d straddled him, tugging insistently at his shirt. She’d flung it victoriously over her head and there’d been a dangerous clatter of coat hangers above that drew a nervous giggle from her lips before she fell upon him, her mouth mashed hard against his and her tongue attacking with a vigour he couldn’t match. She’d become more ferocious, more determined the less animated he became.

There’d been the delicious press and rub of her against him that he’d wanted to explore thoroughly but he’d had too much to drink again and despite Izzy’s best efforts, the steady tide of alcohol had risen up and dragged him down and he was asleep before she could even get his zip open.

He doesn’t know why this keeps happening.

He should go find Izzy and apologise, try and salvage what’s left of the night. If only the room would stop spinning.

 +++

He wishes he could talk to someone about it, but Chop’s smart enough to know that anyone prepared to swap stories is probably talking bollocks. That’s why he thinks Finn’s the guy to talk to. Finn won’t bullshit him. Turns out, Finn won’t say anything.  Chop’s tried a couple of times, tried to make it sound casual, just a friendly conversation about hypothetical blow jobs and whether girls really wanted a bloke to go down on them, but Finn tells him in no uncertain terms to fuck off. He isn’t going to talk about Rae and he doesn’t want to hear about Izzy. Chop gets it though. He never minded before when his brothers asked about who he was fucking and what he’d got away with. It was a way of gauging his success without having to ask awkward questions, but he doesn’t feel right talking about Izzy like that with them.  It’d be different with Finn. Finn’s a mate and he knows he wouldn’t take the piss, and Chop would try really, really hard not to repeat anything juicy Finn let slip.

Chop thinks there’s another reason why Finn’s so reluctant to share. Rae’s got lots of rules about what Finn can and can’t do – more can’t than can – poor sod must not be getting any. Sure, there’s all that writing on skin business, but it’s when they think no one can see and it’s hardly enough, it seems to Chop, to sustain a relationship. Maybe his and Izzy’s sex life wasn’t all that great, but at least he can touch his girlfriend in public. It’s more than he can say for Finn.

+++

Chop’s a man of simple pleasures. All it takes to make his day is a kick around the park with his mates, a hot afternoon mellowed by a small ocean of cold lager in the beer garden of the Swan, or racing down overgrown country lanes on his scooter towards a drawn-out summer evening at Rutlands, the promise of good tunes, great company and pretty girls all ahead of him. The heavy scent of cigarette ash and alcohol-soaked pub carpet, sticky underfoot, is just as sweet to him as the smell of fresh cut grass under clear August skies and the unrivalled poetry of a football arcing off King Eric’s right boot can bring a tear to his eye.

Then there were girls. Girls were a whole other story all together. He loved them, the way they looked, the way they smelled, the way they moved, but they were anything but simple. Girls were, in general, a pain in the arse when you weren’t shagging them, as far as Chop was concerned. Too much like hard work. He’s never felt anything apart from lust for any girl, which made for an easier life. That was, of course, until this summer when he fell in love. Twice.

When Rae came along it was love at first sight for Chop. It wasn’t just all that long dark hair and those bright clever eyes and the most amazing set of tits he’d ever seen outside of a lads’ mag. It had more to do with her sharp wicked tongue and her fuck-you smile and her rapid-fire insults, all delivered like speeding bullets from her cupid’s bow mouth, but even more than that, she was a proper laugh and could hold her booze and she seemed to be able to keep old grumpy-bum Nelson in line. She didn’t talk about make-up or magazines, she didn’t go off on one for no reason like other girls did - except that one time in the chippy - she was normal, he didn’t care what she’d said at the wedding. 

She was quick; always first with a joke or a funny story, and she was smart. He counted it a good day if he could keep up with her. Rae was more than just some girl, she was the daddy and Chop loved her for it and he didn’t care who knew it.

He had a harder time admitting his feelings for Izzy. For a long time he had himself convinced that they were just mates. Izzy was a nice girl and he had no use for one of those. He wasn’t interested in anything serious and nice girls weren’t up for anything fun, so it would have been a waste of time really. Thing was, she’d wormed her way in until he couldn’t see himself making sense without her.

Izzy was sweet and she was kind and she laughed at all his jokes. She thought he was smart. And the way she looked at him; as if he’d hung the moon.  When everyone else had had enough and lost interest in his bullshit stories, he could always look over and she’d be there, mesmerised, a nod of her head and a smile, eager for more. It felt nice, the attention. And it was nicer still not to have to work for it. It was always a struggle for it at home. You had to play up just to be noticed in a house with four rowdy boys, so Chop became the rowdiest of them all; chief agitator, instigator, party prince extraordinaire. Even more so when he realised Izzy seemed to like it. Still, it came as quite the revelation when he finally figured out he didn’t want to be just mates anymore and that he’d very much like to snog the face off her on a regular basis. The bigger revelation was when Izzy said she thought that was a good idea.

She fits just right, tucked up tight under his arm and tucked up in his life. He has to pinch himself all the time now. He can’t believe he gets to be the slightly dented white knight to her sweet perfect princess. A fairy tale love with his fairy tale girl.  

He’ll slay dragons, conquer kingdoms, hijack the moon, anything she asks. She makes him stronger, kinder, braver.  Reflected in her light, he can do anything.  

He wonders at how such a tiny thing can be so frightening, leave him vulnerable and fragile and break him with a word.

+++

It’s not that he doesn’t fancy her. He fancies the arse off her. Most days he walks around half hard just thinking about her and all the things he wants to do to her. All the things they could do to each other. It’s all he can think about. So it’s not about want, it’s just that his house is always full and Izzy’s dad watches him like a hawk. There’s only so much you can do in a car, plus Chop thinks sex, for the most part, is pretty fucked up.

Not that he would ever admit it; he’s got a reputation to maintain. It’s good, great even, he supposes, he just feels he’s been lied to. So far, it hasn’t felt the way his brothers or his friends described it and it certainly hasn’t lasted as long as it did in the pornos. The girls never look like the ones in the magazines. The ones he’s been with looked either scared or bored or some combination of the two. And there’re a lot of noises and fluids no one ever talks about. It’s pretty clear to Chop that everyone lies about their sex life: who with, how often, how good. And blowjobs, EVERYBODY lied about blowjobs; his brothers, the blokes on the footy team, those lying bastards writing in to Penthouse.

It just seems that for all the effort you put in – the cologne, the drinks, trying to appear interested in what she’s saying - you should come away with a prize that lasts more than two minutes, something you can keep, not just the chance to empty your balls and brains and bragging rights after. If you can stay on a rodeo horse for eight seconds you get a belt buckle, surely a whole three minutes fucking deserves some sort of jewellery.

To be fair, he can manage the orgasms on his own, has done since he was eleven, before he even really understood what was happening, outside of knowing it felt good, and it doesn’t cost him the best part of twenty pounds because at the end of the day, Chop knows he’s a sure thing.  

It’s more for the sport of it really, the thrill of the chase, the back and forth of negotiation, the gamble on a positive outcome. And the company, he guesses.

He can’t remember if he’s ever had sex without being drunk before Izzy, but what he does know is he’s never really cared about the girl before. Maybe that’s part of the problem. Anyway, at least he’s having sex.

+++

He’s still lying there in his humiliation, trying to summon the energy to move when the door bounces against the bedroom wall and Finn and Rae tumble in. He can’t see them, but he can hear them.  There’s a lot of moaning and muttering and very loud, and what sounds like very lubricated kissing. Finn kicks his boots across the room; one rebounds against the opposite wall and the other lands at the door. They fall on the bed and they both giggle for a while until there’s more enthusiastic kissing and Finn starts telling Rae how much he loves her.  She tells him to shut up and there’s the very definite sound of a zipper lowering and the dramatic swish of clothing being removed. Finn attempts again to declare his feelings, but Rae says something so filthy it takes him (and Chop) a full minute to recover. Meanwhile Rae’s gone quiet and Finn is reduced to moaning and choking on his own spit. Chop can practically hear Finn’s eyes rolling back in his head.  _Nelson, you dark horse._

It’s not right. She’s his mate. He’d forced himself to deny the existence of her magnificent rack for the sake of their friendship and the preservation of his teeth, it’s not right that he should be forced to live through this. He’ll never forgive Finn.

There’s a sudden flash across Chop’s brain: a halo of burnished copper spilling over Chop’s lap followed by the image of Izzy’s tiny hands and then her lollipop-pink lips wrapped around his cock; the flat of her tongue dragging eagerly up and down the length of him. Thankfully Chop’s groan is drowned out by Finn’s. Chop lies on the floor with his fist in his mouth, trying not to touch himself.

The only words Finn seems capable of forming are “God, Rae, Fuck” on a continuous and slurring loop until even those fail him and he’s reduced to sucking air in hard and making high-pitched whines of appreciation.  Chop is making some pretty strange noises himself.

The moaning tapers off to intermittent outbursts. _Sorry Rae. Too drunk. So tired. Love you._ She sighs and mumbles, her mouth still obviously full but Finn gives no further response other than a muffled snore. There’s a distinctly wet noise, some swearing and some grumbling before the bed creaks and the room goes quiet.  

He’d love to rip the piss out of Finn but it only goes to prove his point, Chop thinks as he drifts back off to sleep too. _See? Blow jobs don’t work for anyone. Fucking Penthouse; liars, the fucking lot of them._

 +++

Even before the front door had slammed shut on the last of his family leaving them with that rarest of beasts, an empty house, she was launching herself at him. He hardly had time to put down his beer.

She’s rubbing him over the top of his jeans, pushing herself hard against him and her clever little fingers work at the button and the zip while her clever little tongue works magic in his mouth. She looks up at him, uncertain but hopeful. The steady pulse of her hips on his thigh, her small breasts pressed hard against his ribcage, the desperate ‘please’ panted across his lips. Her shirt’s open and his is pulled up and he can feel the soft satin of her bra slip against his skin. She’s working her way south and before he knows where he is, she has his jeans down around his ankles and her face in his lap.

_JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THIS IS HAPPENING!!!_

He’s so turned on but he’s freaking out a little too. _Isn’t he supposed to be driving this bus? Don’t girls have to be talked into this kind of thing? And does this mean she’ll want him to reciprocate? What would that even feel like? What would it… taste like?_ _He loves her but he’s not sure he could…_

_Oh God._

There goes every thought as her pretty pink tongue traces wetly along his overheated skin, as the little puffs of air stir the light hairs that trail down his belly. She’s got all the blood moving from his brain.  It’s all happening so fast, he needs to take a breath but he can’t; he can’t breathe. ~~~~

She has no idea what she’s doing and he doesn’t care. Her grip’s too tight, her teeth catch sharply on his over-sensitive skin, her rhythm is erratic and there’s an unnerving sound of air caught in the back of her throat as she tries to figure out how to breathe around him, but none of that is important right now because it’s Izzy and it’s everything he’s been dreaming of.

If he had a better idea about how all this worked, he’d slow her down, tell her how, but he’s too frightened to speak up because any minute now she could come to her senses and look up at him with disgust, call him a perv and tell him she never wants to see him again.  

He wants to be suspended in this moment forever, like in that stupid science fiction movie Archie made them go see last week because he fancied the lead bloke. Unfortunately, his body has other ideas. One minute he’s admiring the way his hand fit perfectly on the back of her head and the way the red-gold of her hair flowed through his fingers, then he focused on the giddy-making warmth of her mouth around him and the next minute there’s a tightening in his belly that has his hips stuttering, completely throwing her timing off.  She bobs when she should weave. He hits the back of her throat and Izzy gags. She pulls away, coughing and spluttering uncontrollably against the back of her hand. Her eyes are watering and her nose is running.  To add insult to injury, this is the exact moment his body chooses to rejoice in the bliss of their union.

It takes him seven seconds to realise what’s happened.  Her look of horror is devastating and his heart falls. She’s swiping frantically at her face; it’s in her mouth, in her eye and her hair. The blood in his ears is rushing so loud he can’t hear what she’s saying as she scurries away to the bathroom but she looks miserable. _FUCK_.

According to every story he’s ever been told, this is supposed to be magical, amazing, transforming, only it turns out, you can’t trust anyone; not your brothers, not the lads in the football team or at work, and you certainly can’t believe anything you see in a movie. The girls in the movies seem to quite enjoy… _that_ , but to be fair, they probably know it’s coming. _Not funny,_ _Chop. Don’t giggle_. Izzy did not look at all like she enjoyed that. This is a nightmare.

_How does anyone get good at this?_ If this is an example of a ‘typical’ first time, then what girl in her right mind would sign up for a second round _?_ And if it’s not typical, then where did he go wrong?

He tucks himself away, mortified. There’s little clean up because she’d worn most of it. _FUCK_. He feels stupid and ashamed and embarrassed. He’s supposed to be an experienced man of the world, guiding her down the rose-scented path to her glorious sexual awakening. What she’s going to tell everyone is that he’s a complete fucking idiot who has no control of himself. He’ll never be able to leave his house.

She’s in the bathroom for a long time, so long in fact that he thinks he should check to see that she’s alright. Just as he’s about to go find her, she’s there, his tiny Amazon, framed in the doorway to the sitting room, the hair edging her still bright red face damp and curling. She’s smiling. His gorgeous girl. It’s weak and watery but it’s a smile. God, she’s amazing. What did he ever do to deserve her?

He reaches for his half-empty beer and the remote and Izzy in that order as she settles herself against him. There’s an awkward moment when she nuzzles his neck and touches his thigh and it’s almost as if she’s forgotten their disastrous recent history. He shifts his hips away, towards the opposite end of the sofa and grasps her searching fingers tightly until they finally still. He lets their joined hands rest safely high up on his chest.  

They both stare into the flickering light of the muted television in almost total silence until the first of his family returns. Every time Izzy starts to say something, Chop cuts her off, talking absolute shite about nothing in particular until she gives up trying all together.  

  +++

He wakes slowly, rudely provoked to consciousness by a collection of early morning noises, a creak of bed springs, the stretch and moan of a deeply felt yawn. There’s snuffled breathing, and soft uneven footfalls padding across the room, the gentle jostling of the bedroom door’s lock before the footsteps pad back across the room. He hurts all over, coiled on his side on the floor of the bottom of the closet.

There’s not one part of him that isn’t screaming; including his head. The wardrobe door is still ajar and it takes a while to twist each painful group of knots that make up his body to face the watered down light of early morning spilling along the carpet.  There’s enough recall from last night for him to wince at the way Izzy wore her disappointment. It must have been bad, he’s lying here alone. He wants to blame the drink, but he knows it’s more than that. His eyes clench against the memory and the new day.

He pulls back from the opening of the door, retreating further into the darkness of the closet. He tells himself it’s to help straighten out his muscles, but it doesn’t go unnoticed that this new angle affords him a better view of the room.

From the curl he makes on the floor Chop can see Rae standing at the side of the bed, the gap in the door filled with red flannel and stretches of long bare leg. This is as much of her as he’s seen since Chloe’s pool party. There’s a vague memory of the feel of her filling his arms as he tossed her around the pool. _Soft._ All that skin. _Pretty._  She’s always covered though, no more than wrists and neck on show. _Why does she hide? Jesus, she’s all fucking leg. Well, not_ all _, her tits are amazing too._

Finn sits naked on the edge of the bed, sleepy-eyed and smiling, rubbing a hand through his messy hair and then over his face, rumbling something incoherent as he pulls Rae to him to stand between his legs. She shakes her head softly and Chop thinks he hears her say ‘it doesn’t matter.’ Finn turns his face upward, lips pursed, straining until she deigns to kiss him. They kiss for a long, languid time.  Finn lingers hopefully after she’s pulled away, loitering in the warmth of her indulgent gaze. He murmurs to her softly while tenderly undoing the buttons of her shirt. 

Chop knows he should announce himself before things go too far, make a joke, try and make them see the funny side. Last night they were all drunk and it shouldn’t be a big deal, him hearing them have loud, almost-sex, but even while he’s thinking it, he knows that for Rae, there is no funny side. He should pull the closet door closed or at least look away, give them some privacy. He’s not entirely sure why he doesn’t.

Instead, he continues to watch as Finn presses his face against Rae’s belly, inhales deeply and sighs. Chop watches him liberally pepper kisses over her breasts; there are brief teasing glimpses of her skin that have Chop shifting unconsciously closer to the door’s opening. The grip of Rae’s hands at the back of Finn’s head pulses, his hair twisted in her fingers while the muscles of Finn’s back roll and shift beneath taut skin as Finn’s hands roam unseen under the cover of her shirt. _Why is he still watching?_  

Finn nudges her back a little, making her rock on her heels, then steadies her, dropping to his knees at her feet. He looks up at her adoringly as he runs his hands up the back of those long legs, before they disappear back under her shirt. Finn drags her knickers down slowly, until they puddle on the floor. Her eyes go wide as he brings her closer to his mouth.

In the wardrobe, so do Chop’s. He’s horrified. He waits for the sound of a slap but it doesn’t come.  _What the fuck is Finn doing? It’s broad daylight. This is too much._ He can’t watch; Rae’s his mate, he shouldn’t be seeing her like this. He returns to the rear of the closet, clamps his eyes shut tight and leans his aching head against the cool of the wall, praying that whatever is happening out there on the floor, in broad daylight, will be over soon and he can go find Izzy and apologise yet again and beg for forgiveness, again.

While he’d imagined all sorts of things based on what he’d heard last night, he’d been grateful for the darkness of the room, affording both him and the couple a semblance of anonymity. This morning though, the sound of her, it feels different. There’s something in her voice as she tells Finn how she feels and what she wants to do to him, that draws Chop forward again, pressed as close as he dares to the edge of the light that’s beginning to creep further in. He opens his eyes _.  It wouldn’t be fair, it wouldn’t be right. It’s private._ His half-hearted protests do nothing to convince him to close the door.  

With her head thrown back and the growls that emit from the length of her exposed throat, the way she sways against Finn, the rock of her hips as she is buffeted by his avid attention, slow and deliberate, Chop is transfixed. Finn is taking his time tasting her like he has all day.

Despite Finn’s firm grip on her arse, fixing her to the spot, she can’t stay on her feet, her knees give and Finn barely pulls away from his task to help lower her to the floor. The muscles in Finn’s arms tense as he takes the weight of her easily. Her shirt falls open and she is laid out before them both, flushed from forehead to feet.

Chop stares, mesmerised, drawn to the lavish expanse of her, the decadent swell of her breasts filling her hands, spilling through the gaps of her fingers. The wild dark river of her hair spread out around her. She’s arranged audaciously across the floor, loose limbed and lush, like one of those angels on that Italian ceiling.

Chop can’t understand how she doesn’t know she’s gorgeous. She’s stunning and he doesn’t know how Finn can wait. _Why_ he’s waiting.

_Pull her down, fill her up, ride her hard_.

 Chop feels his blood moving. Hot and urgent.

Her hands fall to knot in Finn’s hair, locking him in place. His grip on her tightens at her touch. The pull of his left hand curled around the top of one thigh and the push of his right on the other is reddening her skin where he’s holding her open. He sighs and moans, feasting greedily on her as if she may be stolen away before he gets his fill. There’s a practiced diligence, like he’s still learning her, a methodical path that he’s committing to memory.

Her fingers slide from Finn’s hair, chase the curve of his scar, trace the curve of his mouth. He turns his face to kiss them, take them gently between his lips. She lures him back to the centre of her with a hiss and a roll of her hips. A keen student, he follows the new path her touch takes with a sharp eye, practices her new rhythm until he perfects it and she’s writhing beneath him. _Fuck_ … _Yes… there… more…_

From the stretch of her neck to the curl of her toes she vibrates.

+++

The back of the car is cramped and uncomfortable but it’s been a week and a half since they were able to be together and needs must. He’d promised her he’d find somewhere for them to go and it would be romantic. The best he can do is a picnic on the edge of a field, under a tree in the moonlight, but they arrive at the start of a brief but heavy summer downpour that leaves the ground soaked and the place crawling with midges. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, in his excitement, he’d forgotten to pack the blanket and the picnic hamper. She’d already been unhappy about the field. At least the car is dry.

Chop’s worked a little of the old Peters’ magic and she’s starting to come around. He’s got love song dedications playing low in the front seat; he’s not sure if it’s the light from the radio or his hand in her knickers that has her eyes sparkling but he’s happy to take the credit.

There’s very little room to manoeuvre but he perseveres. He thinks he’s got it figured out, how it should go but Izzy seems to have her own ideas.

She squirms beneath him, dragging his hand back between her legs, moulds her fingers tightly around his and rubs herself against them. He doesn’t understand. They’d done this bit already and she’d seemed good to go.  When she’d let go of his hand to anchor herself on his bicep, he moved too, cupping her small breast in his palm and pinching lightly on her nipple. Izzy makes a noise that reeks of disappointment. She shifts again, pushing down hard on his shoulders, raising her hips but Chop doesn’t budge. She can’t want him to put his mouth on her surely, there’s no room. By the time he’s inside her, she looks like she’s ready for it to be over. There’s nothing sexy about it. Nothing romantic.

Izzy is uncharacteristically quiet as she puts her knickers back on and moves back to the front seat. Chop’s heartfelt if stammered assurances of love do nothing to assuage the disappointment in Izzy’s eyes. He’ll admit that it wasn’t one of his better performances.  Why does this keep happening?

When a resident cow presses her face up against the car window, Chop thinks that it’s time to head home.

+++

There’s a low pitched whine filling the room, a keening noise Chop has never heard before. It’s a tremor down his spine. He needs to hear Izzy make that noise. He needs to be the one to make Izzy make that noise. Chop imagines those deliciously filthy words that tumble from Rae’s mouth in Izzy’s high, bright voice, his name a stuttered breath torn from her throat. Wants her breathless and sweating beneath him.

When Rae comes, it’s a fever. Her legs convulse, her stomach quivers. Her back is an extravagant arc, as if she would levitate if she weren’t anchored to the floor by Finn’s mouth. Her arms are splayed out wide, gripping handfuls of the carpet, like she would come loose from the world if she let go. Chop knows exactly how she feels. The only thing connecting him to the ground is the solid weight of the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing returns to normal. Finn lingers, humming contentedly against her. Rae tugs lightly at his hair. Finally, Finn crawls up her body wearing a smug grin, his face sticky with her. She pulls a face of mock disgust before kissing him soundly, noisy and deep, her tongue a swirl across his mouth before it plunges between his lips. Finn trembles, offering himself up eagerly.  

Finn growls something unintelligible into her neck and there’s an urgency Chop thinks he’s been previously lacking. Rae laughs and whispers ‘you better fuck me then,’ as she angles her hips just so, drops her knees to the floor on either side, and reaches for him.

He scrambles for his discarded jeans, fumbles in the pocket, while Rae whines at him to hurry.  Chop can see that he’s trying to concentrate on getting the condom sorted but it’s taking too long for Rae.  Chop swears under his breath as she goes from touching Finn to touching herself, a teasing brush of fingers over her clit and her hardening nipples. Finn whimpers, ‘Jesus Rae, wait for me. Please…’ as he struggles with the foil packet. Task completed, he braces himself above her, his eyes wide and bright, like he still can’t believe his luck. In a breath, he hikes her arse up higher and slides inside her. Before the frenzy starts, he finds just enough time to whisper, _I fucking love you, Rae._

They fuck fast and hard as Rae holds on for dear life, Chop can hear the air being knocked from her lungs. Her open shirt beautifully frames the delicious bounce of her breasts, which Chop feels have been unforgivably ignored…

Finn shifts his weight and tilts her pelvis up when he draws her leg up over his arm. They moan in unison. It’s not long before Finn’s rhythm falters and the concentrated look on his face screws itself into a knot. There’s a splutter of expletives ending in a long drawn out groan. ~~~~

‘Did you?’ Finn asks raggedly, holding himself up over her long enough to search her face closely, only allowing himself to collapse in exhaustion next to her when Rae nods dopily.

+++

_How much longer can they just lie there?_ Chop wonders. There’d been a brief sense of relief when he thought it was over and he’d be able to leave this fucking wardrobe, but they’d stayed a heavy pile of tangled limbs for a long time before they peeled themselves apart. Finn had spent the time gazing at Rae lovingly, touching her face and murmuring sweetnesses. She’d softened and blushed and pulled her shirt closed primly.

_Fucking typical. Soppy sod Finn Nelson and his stupid bloody afterglow. Seriously, how did they get anything else done?_

Eventually, they stir themselves, Finn deals with the condom while Rae tracks down their clothes.

The honey-thick scent of their sex hangs heavy in the room, clings to his clothes, sits at the back of his throat. Chop is cramping up and he’s got a raging hard on he can’t take care of until they leave.

He almost cheers when they do.

_Surely that’s not normal_. He thinks as he wipes himself down with a t-shirt he’s snatched from one of the hangers above him. _All that talking and Finn… and RAE! Jesus._ It’s a whole shitload of new information he’s got to get his head around. He won’t be able to look at either of them the same way, that’s for sure.

He spends more time than he’d realised just lying on the floor, thinking about everything and longer trying to get his body to cooperate and move. He follows the sound of their voices downstairs to the kitchen; stands in the doorway unseen and red-faced, watching them. They tease and bicker as they potter around the unfamiliar room, looking for tea and mugs and bread for toast. There’s none of the awkwardness or embarrassment he was expecting; they sit, whispering and laughing, the rest of the world shut out as always - a conspiracy of two. He slinks away to find Izzy, his head all turned around.

+++

They don’t all met up again until the following Tuesday.   ~~~~

Chop watches his friends from the bar - Rae and Izzy, heads together, caught up in heated whispers now that Chloe’s disappeared to the ladies’ room with a couple of girls he’s seen around; Finn beside Rae, feigning as much interest in what Archie has to say as he can muster while anchored tight up against his girlfriend, one hand around his pint glass, the other disappeared under the table, no doubt touching as much of her as she’ll allow.

The girls are animated in their secrecy, raised eyebrows, rushed words. Izzy seems more eager to hear than Rae is to tell, greedily taking in everything Rae hesitantly shares, which doesn’t seem to be much. Rae blushes and bites her lip, shakes her head and Izzy pushes, eyes blazing, grin broader. She leans forward and takes hold of Rae’s arm, pulls her closer still; maybe she thinks if the words don’t have so far to travel, there’ll be more of them. On Rae’s other side, Finn, agitated, shifts his position in accordance with the adjustment in their placement. Chop worries that he may have to step in if it turns into a tug-of-war, but then Rae turns her whole body and her full attention to Finn, soothes him with a word and a smile and Finn is immediately placated. Chop can see that for Finn, poor, besotted bastard that he is, there is no one else in the room. Chop colours at the vivid image Finn’s dopey, cunt-struck smile conjures up - white skin, dark hair, filthy mouth - and he has to close his eyes to fight the rising heat in his blood. When he opens them again he finds Izzy staring, intense and unwavering, and he feels like he’s been caught out.

No one has ever looked at him like that before. It makes the hairs on his arms rise and there’s a familiar roiling slowly settling low in his belly.

He’s spent too much time thinking about what he saw and what it means. Pictures, noises, questions; his head is filled with them and he can’t get it to stop. It makes him cringe, it makes him blush, it makes him hard, but mostly, it makes him wonder… Rae and his Izzy; are they really any different? He wonders if Izzy would feel the way he does about what he’s seen.

+++

Chop can’t think clearly when he’s around Izzy. For an ideas’ man, it’s kind of pathetic how all his thoughts fly out the window in her presence. So he’s tried to keep his distance the last couple of days, just to try and get his head around everything. He’s still confused but he doesn’t want to be away from her anymore. She’s the most important thing in his life and he just wants to be with her. So he’s going to be.

He stubs out the cigarette he’s been smoking and makes a show of swaggering over to their table, filling it with far more confidence than he feels. He throws a possessive arm around her shoulder as he takes a seat. Izzy bounces up from her chair and settles in his lap.  The twist of her hips grinds her arse against the front of his jeans as she turns to face him. Chop’s heart stops when she breathes - _take me home –_ hot and hurried against the shell of his ear, her tongue a wet pink tease against the hollow of his throat as her fingers tickle like sweat down his spine to pool in the small of his back, causing him to shiver. He’s trembling as she reaches for his other hand, runs it along her thigh, up under her skirt, places it against her knickers. It’s only the shock that makes him move to pull away; it’s the heat that makes him linger.

He’s grateful for the height of the table, the thought that they can be seen by anyone who cares to look is doing curious things to his body. He throws a quick glance at Rae and Finn, but they’re still caught up in each other and Archie has wandered off to talk to Barney and Little Al on the other side of the pub. Chloe’s still not back from the bathroom.

Chop waits, watching Izzy’s face as he tentatively flexes his fingers over the damp cotton, gauging her reaction. Her wide blue eyes are filled with want as she wriggles forward into his touch. The stuttered breath that bubbles from her lips is hotter than anything else he’s ever heard. He wonders what other sounds he can pull from her and what she’ll let him do to make them happen. ~~~~

She stands quickly, tugging his hand from between her legs to pull him to his feet. There is an irresistible urge to bring his fingers to his mouth – a sudden need to know what she tastes like. His mind is racing – where can they go? He won’t make it to the car. The idea of Izzy pushed up against the bricks of the alley wall outside the pub, skirt bunched up high above her hips, his face deep between her thighs until she’s squirming and screaming out his name, him kissing the grazed and tender skin on her shoulders and the backs of her legs afterwards… It has him bent over almost double as they drag each other towards the exit, no time for goodbyes.

 


End file.
